Tales from Orre: Growing up Pyrite
by The Fighting Irishman
Summary: During a casual night of card games and pizza at the Cerulean Gym, Trodaire Phoenix is pressed to tell a story: What was it like growing up in Pyrite Town? A vignette from the TrodaireVerse
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

Forget Celadon City. The real action happened in Cerulean City.

…

Perhaps some elaboration is required.

Every now and then, when the gym leader of Cerulean City got bored, she decided that it was time to pull another night of fun. So Misty would tell her senior trainers to close the Cerulean Gym and notify prospective trainers that the reasoning was "cleaning the pool" (and berate her older sisters for never doing a damned thing), and then call up all of her friends. First Brock, who was always an immediate yes. After all, when you have a chance to hang out with one of your oldest friends, who wouldn't jump at the opportunity? Erika was next, who promised that she would bring her special cookie batch whose secret recipe was apparently guarded by carnivorous Victreebel deep in the bowels of the Celadon Gym (or Misty at least assumed this was the case, given the way Erika would be so defensive of the thing).

It took a little bit more prodding to get Janine to show up, but eventually she always caved as long as her father Koga let her leave the gym. (This time was a go)

That just left Sabrina. Normally this was easy. Despite her cool exterior, Sabrina was always glad to be amongst her friends, the few people she knew that didn't have a degree of distance with her or some extent of fear. But this time was different. This was the first time that Sabrina had been invited…with her boyfriend. That wasn't the problem; everyone loved Trodaire and thought that he was the best thing for Sabrina (and that she was the best thing for him, too)…it's just that hey didn't know if Trodaire enjoyed their idea of fun.

These thoughts were on the back of her mind when she heard the door to the Cerulean gym open, and a very familiar male voice speak up.

"Hello? You here, Misty?" Brock shouted. From her perch high in the rafters, Misty nodded, and then realized that Brock probably couldn't hear that. So she spoke.

"Yeah, one minute! Just cleaning something!" She said. Sticking her tongue against the inside of her cheek, Misty finished screwing in the faulty lightbulb, and after admiring her work looked down. She was about twenty to thirty feet directly above the Cerulean Gym battlefield, which was really just a very deep pool. Several dozen feet deep.

Hey, Gyarados needed room to swim too.

"That's pretty high up, Misty!" Brock said slightly nervously. Misty shrugged.

"Whatever, Brock. I've done this plenty of times before." She said. "Besides, watch this." She straddled the rafter, looking directly down to the pool below her. It was a good thing she was wearing her swimsuit already. She took a deep breath, and leaned over the edge and fell.

Brock didn't have a chance to scream in shock as his friend fell into the water with a loud splash. He sprinted towards the pool and was about to dive in after her when suddenly Misty popped right back through the surface. He skittered to a stop, narrowly avoiding fall in himself. As Misty giggled and began to swim to the edge, Brock understandably freaked out.

"What was that all about?" He shouted, waving his arms around in concerned anger. "That was really dangerous, Misty!" He said. Misty rolled her eyes as she got out of the water.

"Please. I go swimming with a Gyarados when it hasn't had its food for the day. This is a piece of cake compared to that." She flipped her wet hair back behind her shoulders, and walked over to the towel rack on the wall. Brock had to admit that she had a point, but that didn't change the fact that he was still annoyed with his friend. After a few minutes, the shock had passed, and now he was just flabbergasted that Misty was willing to do something like that. So he asked her.

"Because sometimes manning a gym gets really damn boring, Brock." She said, drying off and putting on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. They weren't going out that night; she didn't give a damn how she looked. "I miss being out on the road, chasing dreams…nearly getting killed time and again…" She looked at him, and Brock detected a trace of hopefulness in her voice. "Did you-?" He cut her off before she could go any further.

"Sorry Misty. He's still travelling. Said he'd come back in time for Christmas though!" He said, noting her expression brighten a bit at hearing that. Truth be told, he was just as excited at the possibility of seeing their old friend too.

The door opened at that moment, and Erika and Janine both walked in. They were also dressed in clothing far below their normal gym apparel. Evidently they were so immune to Brock's "charms" that they now viewed him as safe. (This, by the way, was a source of much self-deprecation for the Pewter City Gym leader)

"Hi guys!" Erika said cheerily. "Hope we aren't too early."

"Not at all." Misty said. She gestured to Brock. "Brock and I were about to set up the table now." She elbowed him in the ribs, which meant that he was clearly going to be doing all of the work. Grumbling something mighty, Brock walked away.

"What's his deal?" Janine asked. Misty shrugged.

"Eh, no biggie. Just a little annoyed when I did one of my swan dives into the water from up in the rafters." She said. Janine raised an eyebrow, and Erika shook her head exasperatedly.

"You've got to stop doing that, Misty." Erika said.

"Yes. It is a little bit…foolish." Janine added.

The door opened again, and this time Trodaire and Sabrina walked in.

"Rina! Trodaire! Glad you could make it." Misty said with a smile. Janine nodded curtly.

"Sabrina. Trodaire." She said this last name with a bit of annoyance, no doubt still remembering the bruises from their last fight. Sabrina smiled a bit.

"Good to see you again. I take it you forced Brock to set things up?" She asked.

"I sure did!" Misty said with a grin. Sabrina smiled a bit wider, and then nudged her boyfriend.

"Trodaire, thanks for volunteering. Go help him." She said. Trodaire gave an indignant look, before sighing and walking off. As soon as he was out of earshot, Misty spoke.

"Oh man. Whipped like an overworked Rapidash."

"_I heard that._" Trodaire shouted from the other room, earning a tittering of giggles from the female gym leaders.

After some time, Brock and Trodaire had dragged in the required table and chairs (Brock was glad for some help, having normally had to do it all himself), while the girls had brought out what they deemed the important stuff. Those things were of course a truckload of candy, fast food, pizza, and yes perhaps a little alcohol too. Misty had hung a projector screen on the far wall hanging above the pool, and had even let out some of her gym's Pokemon for some exercise. Brock had managed to find a channel that was showing some local Pokemon battles, and before long the group was watching. Trodaire bit into a slice of pizza, watching the battle with some degree of interest while the others chatted about a whole bunch of things completely unrelated to Pokemon battling.

"So who are they?" He asked. Misty shrugged.

"Don't know. Just ambient noise." She said. "I mean, it can get awful cavernous in this place without at least some background sound."

"And let's be honest, Trodaire." Brock said. "We're Gym Leaders. Even when we're not active in our duties we're still getting our battle fix somehow."

"You make us sound like junkies." Janine said disapprovingly.

"Would passionate hobbyists work better?" Erika offered. Janine considered this, and then nodded.

"Well I don't care that much about them. I just want to at least see the Pokemon that my future opponents will have before I crush them." Misty said. At that moment, as if to punctuate the point, a giant Gyarados rose out of the water like a demon from the depths and let out a playful roar. Well, as playful as a Gyarados could be. To anyone else it sounded completely terrifying.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that that Gyarados is becoming your favorite Pokemon." Erika said. "It certainly aims to please you an awful lot."

"I agree. It is a noble beast to be willing to listen to you so intently. Normally its kind are rather…stubborn." Janine said.

"I'm not surprised that you like it so much. Must remind you of you." Sabrina said. Everyone looked at Misty to see if she'd explode at the light-hearted teasing. Instead, she smirked evilly.

"Maybe I'm more devious than you all think." She said.

"Nah. We all know you're an evil genius." Brock said. Misty sweat dropped.

"Thanks for spoiling it, killjoy." She muttered. Then she looked over at the other end of the table. "Trodaire? Are you ok?"

The Orrean hadn't spoken in a bit, and was instead simply staring at the Gyarados. It was looking back at him, and Misty thought it looked confused. Why was this little human so interested in it?

"Trodaire?" Brock asked. Trodaire spoke quietly.

"Never seen one before." He said.

"A Gyarados?" Misty asked. "Well, they are kinda rare."

"They were stories for us growing up in Pyrite." Trodaire said. "Nobody actually believed that they existed. And we certainly didn't think that any of them would come to Orre."

Sabrina winced a little, and discreetly placed her hand on Trodaire's knee as a pre-emptive calming measure. She didn't want him to get too worked up about his past in Orre. He was here now. And that was what was important.

"What kind of Pokemon did you have growing up?" Erika asked. Trodaire looked at her blankly.

"Huh?" He asked.

"Did you have your own Pokemon in Orre?" Brock asked. "I mean, you don't really talk about it so I was wondering if you'd given it away."

"I didn't." Trodaire said.

"Didn't give one away?" Janine asked.

"No. I mean I didn't have one." Trodaire said. He shrugged, and chuckled sardonically. "I've never had a Pokemon of my own."

This made everyone at the table gape in surprise, and even the Gyarados looked surprised at this revelation.

"Really?" Misty asked. Trodaire held up a hand to calm everyone that it wasn't a big deal.

"Most kids didn't. Pokemon were about as rare as water oases in the desert. I mean, wild Pokemon never came there because there wasn't anywhere nice to live. Or maybe they just didn't like any of us." He said. He laughed. "Can't blame them. Most people in Orre aren't exactly model citizens."

"You are." Misty said. Trodaire smiled, feeling a little warm inside upon recognizing the earnestness of her remark.

"I suppose. But I'm the exception, not the rule." He said.

"Got any stories?" Brock asked. Misty shot him a glare.

"Brock!" Misty said harshly. "That's none of our business." She said.

"It's alright, Misty." Trodaire said. "It's not like I'm a war vet or something like that. I don't have PTSD. I just have a lot of scars." But then he looked thoughtful. "I don't think there's anything that you'd find all that interesting."

Kind of a foolish thing to say to a group of gossips, don't you think?

After a few minutes of complaining and puppy dog eyes (from the girls, that is. Brock was more amused by their display than anything), Trodaire rolled his eyes. He glanced over at the pool, and saw to his surprise (and inner amusement) that Gyarados was still watching them, and now there appeared to be a few more Water types that wanted to see what all of the fuss was about.

"What, do I have an audience now?" Trodaire asked. Misty giggled.

"Don't mind them. They all like watching us trainers screw around." She said. "But you still need to tell us a story."

"I'm not much of a speaker." Trodaire said, quietly yet desperately trying to dissuade them all. No chance.

"Ridiculous." Janine said. "I have seen your speeches to Pokemon and trainers. You know exactly how to say things and what you are trying to convey in a speech. How would a story being told be any different?"

"Ok, ok. Fine. Just one story." Trodaire said. "What do you want to hear?"

"I would like to know about where you grew up." Erika said. "You've mentioned that you're from Pyrite Town. What's that like?"

Trodaire shrugged, and with a small smile cleared his throat.

"It wasn't anything special to be honest…"

A/N: Instead of another One-Shot, I present to you what hopefully will become a future running installment in the TrodaireVerse: Tales from Orre! These will be little snippets that reveal a little bit more about Trodaire's backstory from Orre, though it won't be enough to steal from the eventual direct sequel to The Fight Club. This one will be a few chapters, and hopefully you enjoy it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

*These chapters will mark a tonal shift, as it is Trodaire that is doing the narration. Expect plenty of curse words. Also expect moments where the others at the party will interject. These moments will be demarked by italics.*

I guess I start at the beginning, huh? Well, there isn't much to Pyrite Town, especially compared to some of the cities that you see here in Kanto or even in Johto. I think you could fit maybe ten Pyrite Towns in one Castelia City. It's a sad, miserable, pitiable wreck, all a bunch of rusted metal and spare parts cobbled together to form what amounted to a city.

But it was home, damn it. You woke up every morning, stared at the sun turning the mountains and ravines blood-red, and you realized that you were still there. No one had robbed you, no one had decided to throw you out into the dumpster in the alley. And best of all, no one had thought to kill you in your sleep.

Some might have preferred that, though, because things weren't always so shitty. Once upon a time, way before I was born, Pyrite was allegedly a great mining community. It was supposed twice or even three times the size it is now, the older folks would say. I dunno, they usually spent their time sitting on their rickety porches getting lit up at nine in the morning with moonshine so I don't know what was true and what was alcohol exaggerating. It wasn't ever quiet. See, there are a lot of old people that live in Pyrite that were around during Pyrite's "golden" age, and the thing is that _they can't fucking stand each other._ So you measured the time not by a watch but by when some old family was screaming at the other from across the street. Certainly made pick-up stickball games a lot more interesting.

I was born in the Super Grand Hotel, the only sign of civilization in that entire Arceus-forsaken dump. Apparently it was built by some extra funding that came from the old days, and apparently it was so much that it was able to keep running free of charge for years after the fact. Well, my delivery was apparently easy. Nothing after that was, though.

I was about three when my mom died. She'd been sick for a while, and I guess there was a time that she just couldn't keep fighting. I don't remember much about her, but I do remember that she apparently made sure that I grew up with an adult figure in my life. I can respect that and love that memory. So she sent me to my uncle Jack.

My father? I never met. Apparently he skipped town when my mom was pregnant with me, so the poor thing had to keep working as a custodian/waitress at the Pyrite Coliseum until I was born. It's been twenty-four years. I learned how to fight without him, how to shave without him, how to take care of myself without him…I have no father.

_"What would you do if you ever saw him again?" Misty asked cautiously. Trodaire shrugged._

I'd knock him out. That, or ask him why he didn't want me…and _then _knock him out.

Anyway, my mom gives me to Uncle Jack, and then she died. Peacefully, they said. I wasn't in the room when she died, but I was there to hear her last words to me: "Fight, my love." I guess I took it to heart, huh?

But living with Uncle Jack wasn't a bad thing. Until I was about nine or ten, it was pretty good. See, he was one of the few guys that still had any sort of honorable job left in the town that wasn't about drugs or women or trafficking. He was a guard at the Coliseum. It's kind of funny to call it a coliseum, because honest to Arceus it is the worst piece of shit stadium you will ever see. The roof is caving in in places, the seats are rickety and rusty, and the trainers and Pokemon that fight in it were all malnourished and pathetic compared to the fighters I have seen here. But Uncle Jack would take me to a match every other Friday with his weekend pass. Most of the men used it to gamble or sell to get extra money. He used his so I could see Pokemon battles. And he always told me that Pokemon were beautiful creatures, every last one of them.

I guess I'd better cut to the chase, because I'm sure you all know where this is going. When the mining dried up, that's when the ugly came in force. Drugs, trafficking, illegal Pokemon battles, extortion, racketeering…the works. And one night when my Uncle Jack was coming home from work some gangbanger mistook him for a rival and had his posse jump him. It was only after they'd beaten him half to death that they realized that they had the wrong guy, so they left him to bleed out on the road. He died in the hospital, because at least someone had the brains to call the cops for that much. I don't know who his killers were, and I don't really care. The odds of me finding them are next to nil. But if I ever do…I don't know. I just don't know.

So that leaves me as a twice-orphaned ten year old with only a little pocket money and nowhere to go. Well, that isn't true. I had somewhere to go. I fell in with a group of kids like me that had taken up refuge in an old electric plant that had since been boarded up. The health department would have a fit over it if they got wind of it today, but it was a roof over our heads and that was what mattered.

There were…eight of us. Most of their names I forget but I remember my old friend Buggy and one of the older "boss" kids named Cail. He was pretty tall, with hair he'd dyed green and goggles that he always had resting above his ears. He wore a leather longcoat, the kind you see vigilante lawmen wear on TV but for whatever reason he could never quite pull it off. I guess he knew deep down that he wasn't cool enough. But he was in charge, and we couldn't dispute that. Buggy on the other hand was this goofy kid. His eyes always seemed like they were bugging out of his head, hence our name for him. He always had a hare-brained scheme to get some money on the side, because when you have no job and no money and no hope you do whatever is necessary to get some extra dollars. I think the first series of scars on my arm come from me vaulting chain-link fences with Buggy after having stolen some fruit from the local market.

"_Wouldn't the police stop you kids?" Brock asked._

What police? There were maybe three officers in Pyrite, and when I was twenty-one one of them died. They were all busy dittering around in their office, never solving anything except calming down the older gentlemen that were busy getting drunk and blaming each other for problems completely out of everyone's control. City was dying, and we kids knew it long before the adults did. Hell, I think we just figured we were doing the honorable thing. Why bother holding up an institution that was crumbling around us?

The thing is, what we did was pedestrian compared to some of the other gangs in the city. See, Cail was dumb and foolish and argued often with the other "leader" kid we had, but at that time he was smart enough to know that six kids ages seven to ten were not going to last in the middle of gang warfare. So whenever we were out playing in front of the old power plant and a bunch of older looking people that looked like trouble, Cail would usher us inside and lock the doors. He and the other kid would grab crowbars and tire irons, and told us that if anything happened to them that we were to run to the Pokemon Center and not leave no matter what.

I knew what sound different calibers of gun made when fired by the time I was twelve. By thirteen, I was able to determine when someone was carrying a concealed weapon be it handgun or lead pipe or knife depending on their body posture as they moved.

So when we were locked inside the power plant while gangs beat each other and each others' Pokemon up, what did we do? Well, we beat each other up. Not literally of course, but Cail knew that we needed some degree of exercise and a way to let go of aggression and it was probably smart to let it out like this. He had found an old book on martial arts a few years back, and he spent time in the plant teaching us moves and such. Of course, none of us were experts, so a great deal of our "sparring" was just making shit up as we went along and seeing how that worked. I won an awful lot of fights because my opponent didn't know what the hell I was going to do next.

"_Wait a minute…" Erika said. "Are you saying that Zui Quan comes from Orre?"_

Well, Cail didn't invent it, but yeah it does. I don't remember what the name of the original teacher was. Ifin or Inity or something like that. All I know was that I was the best out of the group, and before long I was the teacher to the younger kids, which was a relief to Cail because that meant he could afford to go out and smuggle things into the plant to help us out.

Five years. This lasted five years. I was fifteen when I started noticing the change. Cail was coming back later and later in the evening, often twitchy and on edge or just plain mean. He'd start screaming at the younger kids for no good reason, and made a few of them cry. When the other leader kid tried telling him to cool it, Cail pulled a gun on him and told him to leave. So the kid did. I never saw him again. Hope he made it out.

I don't know what happened to Cail, but things changed. I think he started doing drugs or something or maybe he thought that he was doing the right thing by teaching us to be mean, because soon he was telling the kids to start accosting people that had nothing to do with "the game" or whatever it was Cail was calling it. I hated it, and never did it. Got a lot of bloody lips from Cail and more than a few black eyes. Buggy did nothing. He was one of the first to start listening to Cail, and he acted like we'd never been friends.

I drew the line at hurting innocent people, so when Cail told me to beat up this one security guard at the Coliseum because he hadn't paid Cail his money for his "fix," I told Cail to do it himself if it was that important. He looked at me like I'd told him to go fuck himself, which I guess I had in a way. He told me to do it, or he was gonna blow my fucking brains out and throw me into the canyon that divided the coliseum from the rest of the city. I did the only thing I could think of: I punched him right in the jaw, kneed him in the gut, and then turned and ran like hell the other way. I heard him howling, and I knew that I'd probably fractured his jaw. But I didn't care at the time. I just knew that if I'd done nothing, he would have killed me. Killed me over some stupid bullshit that I know he would have regretted if he'd actually gone through with it. But the Cail I knew was long gone. Long gone, and in his place was someone I didn't recognize and didn't particularly care for.

He had the other kids looking for me for a long time. After about two weeks I think he just gave up. That was good, because I was running out of dumpsters to dive into. I think the implicit threat was if I messed with him ever again, then that would be the end of things.

_"What did you do after that?"_ _Janine asked._

I got into the underground fight scene. I was good with connecting with the Pokemon that were being used, and I would give potential trainers battle tips for a short fee. I learned pretty quickly that bad advice equaled no return customers, so whenever I could I'd sneak into the Poke Mart and read the latest edition of _Pokemon Journal Monthly_ to read…what was his name? Oak. Professor Oak's Poke-fact Column.

"_You actually READ those magazines?" Misty asked._

Of course I did. What did you think I was gonna do, just sit around with my thumb up my ass and learn things by osmosis? No, I had to work really hard to figure things out. Cail didn't give me much, but when I was younger he did help me get better at reading. Uncle Jack was only able to do so much when I was younger. I remember asking some of the workers from the Coliseum that were trained in medical help how their job worked, and honest to Arceus they let me shadow. Provided, of course, I looked and didn't speak or touch. That was easy.

It was when I was a little bit older, maybe about seventeen, that I worked up the nerve to take my pseudo-coaching gig to Duel Square, which was the closest Pyrite ever got to sanctioned Pokemon battles. Gangs called a truce to watch these battles, and they were sloppy, messy and brutal affairs. But there was a little bit more money in it for me to offer my services there than in the basement of some abandoned house, so before long I'd be sitting at the corner of the square, under a lamppost willing to offer any information I thought was helpful.

At first a few gang leaders were suspicious of me. They thought I was there to teach the other trainers how to beat their Pokemon cheaply. I had a gun or two pointed at my head asking me to explain. I'd always tell them the same thing: that I was teaching the Pokemon mostly what to do if they got knocked to the ground and to use whatever moves they thought they were best at and how to use those moves effectively. This seemed to placate them, especially when they learned that I didn't have an allegiance to any gang in particular. Nah, I was Trodaire "that fly coach kid from the corner" and before long I was about as well-known as anything in Pyrite. I was making enough money to afford a dumpy one-room apartment in a little boarding house across the street from the Poke Mart, and I thought that I'd carved a niche out for myself. I could see myself doing this for the rest of my life: being a coach on the side, maybe save up enough money to buy some trainer's old and retired Pokemon, and have a buddy to pass the time with. It got kinda lonely being in the corner without anyone to talk to, and I was eying this one trainer's Makuhita. It was a living, and I thought I was doing right by what my mom told me.

"_What happened? Why did things change?" Sabrina asked._

Why did things change?...Heh, good question. And I have an answer.

Because it was around that time that Wes rolled into town.

A/N: You're fucking right I just went there. There was no way I was going to write a love letter/hateful screed towards Orre without mentioning the hero of Pokemon Colosseum sooner or later. What was Wes like? Would he and Trodaire be friends? Find out next time. Fufufu…


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

*These chapters will mark a tonal shift, as it is Trodaire that is doing the narration. Expect plenty of curse words. Also expect moments where the others at the party will interject. These moments will be demarked by italics.*

The first thing I noticed about Wes was the coat. Unlike Cail, this guy could absolutely pull off an old and faded duster. It was dark blue, yet somehow it fit right in with the miscreant crowd that filled Pyrite's streets. Yet that wasn't what made him stand out. It was the way he walked. He didn't really walk, he sort of swaggered from place to place. Most people from Pyrite, even the most hardened of the street crews, walk and move at a hurried pace with their shoulders hunched as if expecting to get jumped. Wes was having none of that. He had his shoulders up and his chest puffed out, as if daring someone to take him on.

_"How old was he?_"

This was…when I was eighteen. So a year after I'd been working Duel Square…I'd say six years ago. I think Wes was about 20 then. He certainly didn't look much older than me, if at all. He also didn't look like much. Kind of wiry, his coat sort of hanging on his shoulders, but Arceus on high he was the meanest Seviper I've ever seen when he had to be. That was how we first met.

It was late one night, at a little dive that most Duel Square people go to drown their sorrows after a loss or get plastered after a win. The barkeeper was this nice sort of fellow, Duking, who let me sleep in a little room above the bar. It had a bed, a sink and mirror, and a old battered radio and a cabinet. All I needed in the world. Duking slept in the basement of the place. Much more spacious than my quarters, but I wasn't complaining.

_"Do you know what happened to Duking?_" _Misty asked._

It's been a few years. Last I heard from him via post card he's the closest thing to a mayor in Pyrite. Mostly because no one wants to start shit with a guy who's big enough to pinch off their neck with his bare hands. Don't tell anyone I said this, but Duking is a big ol' softie. His Pokemon is a Plusle, for Arceus' sake!

But I digress. Anyway, it's late at night at Duking's place, I'm sitting at the corner of the bar wondering if I should have something to drink, when the door opens and Wes rolls in. No one really pays him much mind, and I wouldn't have noticed him either. Then he pulls up a stool next to me, turns to Duking and says

"I'll have the hardest stuff you've got. And an ashtray."

Duking gives him the hardest drink in the building, as well as an ashtray. Wes lit up a cigarette, took a few satisfied puffs, and seemed content to just blow smoke around him for a few moments. I don't want to cough, but the smell is getting to be a bit much. Then, without looking at me, he speaks.

"You're that coach guy, right?"

I tell him I am, and then ask who's asking. Some of the fights at Duel Square aren't exactly what I'd call "sanctioned" by the Pokemon League, and for all I knew Wes was an undercover agent for the G-Men. He shrugs.

"A guy looking for some excitement in this place."

He downed a shot of that liquor like it was nothing, and then turns to face me. His tribal tattoos were practically glowing in the dark, underneath the pallid light of the bar.

"Look, cuz, I've seen how you roll at Duel Square. You don't fight, but you have a say in who fights. You dig?"

I nod. For better or for worse, that's my job description.

"Good. I want in. Can you do that for me?"

I remember laughing, and telling him it takes more than a favor to get into Duel Square.

_"You took bribes?" Janine asked accusingly._

Arceus, no! I vetted a lot of incoming fighters by looking at their teams and telling them whether or not they seemed up to snuff. Truth be told, it was for their own good. I can't tell you how many Pokemon I think I've saved from getting a brutal beat down from one of the gang leaders' Pokemon because I said they weren't big enough or fast enough.

Wes reached into his pocket and slapped a roll of dirty dollar bills on the counter.

"This count as 'more than a favor?'" He asked, a little smugly if I recall right. Duking has come over to the bar and has a raised eyebrow.

"He giving you trouble, Trodaire?"

I tell Duking it's no big deal, we're just doing business. I remember Wes chuckling as he took another drag on his cigarette, clearly finding that excuse funny. Satisfied, Duking walked away to deal with some regular who was shit-faced at the other end of the bar. Wes waited until he was gone, before speaking again.

"Look, cuz. I know you have doubts. But I am better than any one of these jackasses in the room, and all I need is a venue to prove it. Think of this as your advance payment. I get in, I give you a percentage of my winnings."

I laugh, telling him that that won't amount to much, seeing as how no one builds much of a streak at Duel Square.

"I will."

That's the first time I saw that look in Wes' eyes. It was a dangerous, mischievous gleam, like he knew he was the king of whatever game was being played. It reminds me a bit of Red's eyes during a battle, except Red is far more accomplished. And less talkative.

I start to tell Wes that I'll think about it, when some drunken asshole from the back stumbles up to us.

"You cost me a fight…."

At least, I think that's what he said, considering he was so fucking drunk he had to prop himself against the bar. He was now in between Wes and I. Wes narrowed his eyes.

"I was talking to him, bub."

Drunkie turned around, and looked at Wes through blurry eyes.

"You wanna start something, pal?"

Again, I'm just spit balling here based on his intoxication. Wes smiles, and then looks past him to me.

"You. Meet me at the Coliseum. Midnight. We'll talk later. For now, walk away."

I ask him why he said that, but the words die in my throat when he grabs Drunkie by the scruff of the neck and throws him into a table of other drunken morons. The last I saw of Wes as I grabbed my coat and ran out the door to avoid the inevitable bar brawl was him applying a very painful-looking arm lock to Drunkie.

I met him at the Coliseum at midnight, just like he requested. He was already there, smoking another cigarette. Or maybe it was the one he'd had at the bar. I asked him how he got out without a scratch.

"I fight better with at least one drink in me."

Okay, I had to admit that was pretty good. I asked him why he came to Pyrite.

"Just passing through. Seemed a good place to go."

I remember thinking that was insane, but considering I was hoping to move out of Orre someday the possibility of some extra money from this guy was too good to pass up. I asked him where he got all this money.

"You'd sleep better not knowing."

This worried me. He could tell, though.

"Relax, cuz. Nothing bad. Just…a little rough."

I decided not to ask.

"Look, cuz. It's simple enough. Give me a fight tomorrow morning against that big guy, the one with the two Makuhita? I promise I'll make it worth your while."

I thought about this. I asked him what the catch was.

"No catch. Geez, cuz, is there an other shoe to everything you get involved in? Relax. This is no strings attached."

I could tell that there was more than he was letting on, but at the time I was young and desperate and poor and needed money in any way I could. I shook his hand.

The next morning, I got to Duel Square early and talked to one of the gang leaders. They were cretins and dirty bastards, but they had a strange sense of honor when it came to me. I guess they thought my advice was valuable, or some shit like that. Sure beats being thrown in a dumpster with a cut throat. Anyway, I tell them that this crazy guy came up to me the night before and offered me so much fucking money I couldn't turn him down. At first they thought I was jumping town, but they relaxed when I said he just wanted a fight against Chief. Chief was this big, tattooed monster of a guy that enjoyed having his dual Makuhitas beat the living snot out of their opponents…even after the match was over.

_"So, what, you thought you were sending Wes to his doom?_" _Brock asked._

Metaphorically speaking, yes. I thought that Wes wouldn't have a chance against those two Makuhitas. They were the top dogs of the Duel Square. So you can only imagine my surprise when Wes comes up and says for the whole crowd to hear:

"Let's make it a tag-teamer, cuz."

The crowd went _Ooooooo_, and even the gang leaders were surprised. This kid was certified insane. Who went up against Chief's Makuhita? Better question: who went up against both of Chief's Makuhita _at the same time?_ These questions were still on our minds when Wes sends out an Espeon and an Umbreon. Well, the Espeon could do well against the Makuhita but Umbreon wouldn't, and then the two Makuhita could tag team the Espeon and just wear her down.

Someone shouted go, and the battle began. And by Arceus on high…it was unlike anything I've ever seen. Wes' Espeon's eyes glowed, and blasted both Makuhita with a Psybeam that was so fast I nearly missed it when I blinked. I'd never seen a Pokemon that fast before. When they were knocked down, Umbreon sprinted in and stomped on their faces and before you knew it they were KO'd. I think the whole thing took about thirty seconds. It was beautiful. I think I had a tear in my eye.

Wes and I started hanging out a lot after that. He was…well, I guess he was the older brother that I never had. We practiced Zui Quan together, talked strategy together, and through it all he kept raking in the cash and I honest to Arceus started dreaming of a chance to leave Orre. It would be so great.

And Wes…he had the knack. I didn't know much about how champions look, but this guy was the most polished trainer I'd ever seen. I knew that if he ever got around to leaving too, he'd challenge leagues in Sinnoh, Hoenn, Kanto…anywhere. He and I talked about that a lot, late at night when we were sitting with his Umbreon and Espeon staring at the stars in the night sky.

_"Why haven't you mentioned him before?" Erika asked._

Well…one day, he told me that he was gonna take his bike and ride out to Phenac City and check out their Coliseum, and if it was any good then he and I were gonna leave this dump and start climbing the ladder. I started to dream of living by the sea, or just anywhere as far from this choked desert of a country as possible. But since the sidecar of his bike was broken, Wes told me he had to go alone. Before he left, he gave me a huge wad of cash and said:

"If you don't hear from me, take all that and run. Get the hell outta dodge, cuz. Go to Kanto. It's the closest to here."

I asked him if he'd find me, and he smirked and said.

"C'mon, Trodaire. You're just as destined for great things as I am."

He flashed me a grin, revved up that awesome bike of his, and took off.

And that was the last I ever saw of him.

_Trodaire sat at the table, letting the silence wash over the room. When he spoke again, it was nearly monotone._

_ "I waited for him for two weeks. After that I feared that something awful had happened to him, and when the pressure from gang leaders to pick a side was becoming too much, I borrowed a bike from Duking and ran. Nothing but the clothes on my back, some money in my pocket, and that Zui Quan wooden dummy that Wes and I had built together. Sometimes I wonder where Wes is…and I wonder what I'll say to him if I ever see him again."_

_ The party broke up a few hours later. Sabrina had been noticeably quiet, and when the two of them were driving back to Saffron, she spoke up._

_ "You lied to them." She said._

_ "No I didn't." He said defensively. Sabrina rolled her eyes as she turned on the windshield wipers of the car._

_ "Fine. You withheld from them. Still kind of crummy of you. They have no idea how that story really ended. You just glossed over it to save them from the truth. It's an awful, shitty truth, that much I'll give you, but why didn't you come clean?" She asked, her voice warm with concern for her boyfriend. She held out her hand, and he took it and grabbed it with both of his and held tight._

_ "Because it still hurts too fucking much, honey. It just hurts too much."_

_ They didn't say much else for the rest of the drive. Sabrina dropped him off at the Fight Club, and he told her to wait in the car while he checked to see that everything was secure. If it was, then they could drive back to her mansion in peace._

_ It was when he started frantically waving her over while in the rain that Sabrina knew something was up. _

_ "What is it?" She asked, stepping out of the car and getting immediately soaked. He pointed to the door._

_ "It's unlocked. I never leave it unlocked." He said._

_ He never did. Someone was inside. _

_ They both walked inside the door, and looked around the darkened gym. There was no one inside, right? Maybe it was a mistake, and Trodaire had just forgotten to lock it this time._

_ Then he smelled it. An acrid smell, a smell that still make him want to cough even after all these years. He curled his fists in white-hot rage, and when he spoke his quiet was quiet and menacing._

_ "Give me one good reason not to beat you to death, you worthless piece of shit."_

_ Out from the shadows, the figure emerged. He was a little skinnier than Trodaire had last seen him, and the duster was a little more worn, but his eyes were just as mysterious and alive as ever. A cigarette dangled from his mouth, and when he spoke he dared to grin._

_ "Nice to see you too, cuz." Wes said._

A/N: And on this cliffhanger, we conclude the first in the series of "Tales from Orre" vignettes. Why is Wes in Kanto? How did he find Trodaire? These questions will be answered…in the direct sequel to The Fight Club. Fufufu.

Reviews are appreciated!


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